11/6/05

Living In The Past

"The Rats Are Coming! The Werewolves Are Here!""Show the world you have lived
Show them your scars
Be proud of them
Exhibit yourself
And for God's sake, charge admission"

Eduard, Cocteau

Who knows where it all went wrong
Maybe when you were young and strong

Hey

It's your tired and troubled exhibitionist, back again, free of charge (what the fuck am I going to do with money, anyway, other than waste it?). Been a couple of weeks, maybe a little more, seems like even longer, time drags by when you're living in a tar pit.

What's been going on with Bill?

Well . . . I truly think I'm losing my mind. Part of it's the damned insomnia- here's something for all you NL nostalgia buffs pining for the old days, when I used to cry about not being able to sleep for half a damn issue at a time, well, the sleepless nights are back and they brought their big fucking brother AND sister, and they're damn kicking my ass. I can't sleep here at the house. I can't sleep at Al's. I cannot sleep in a box, I cannot sleep with a fox (unfortunately), I cannot sleep here or there, I cannot fucking sleep ANYWHERE.

Sleep deprivation (and that fucking concussion, I still feel like my skull is stuffed with bloody cotton on my clearest days) has got me walking around in this hypnogogic state where a lot of the time I truly can't tell what's real and what's not- already a problem for me at the best of times. And then there are the fucking dreams when I do occasionally drift off, all about being 19 again and starting over, I've dreamed more about Loretta in the past two months than I have in the past two years, and let's just say they haven't been bad dreams . . .

My Mom said something to me the other morning, "Do you know you were talking to Loretta in your sleep last night?"
Bill: Was I talking mean?
Mom: (Uncomfortably) No . . .

The last thing I need is to start actively missing Loretta again after all this time, and not just the part where I made her holler Jesus in the bedroom either, but the person who was going to be my true love through out this life, but there you go. I lie down in that bedroom upstairs and all the intervening years just fall away, and it's 1976 again, Joe's skinny and I have hair down to my ass, my parents are hale and semi-sane, and Loretta and I are just falling in love. I don't go there on purpose, trust me, it’s happening against my will, and fuck, it really is making me crazy. I hate it.

The other crazy making part is my Mom. She's always naturally been one of those nosy, naggy types that just can't fucking leave a person alone. And if there was ever a person, especially now, who needed to be left the fuck alone . . .

She doesn't do it on purpose, like I said, she's just one of those type persons. It hasn't been so bad the past 30 years, when I've had the option of coming and going as I pleased, so that when she started driving me nuts I could leave, and not come back till the annoyance wore off. But now that I'm trapped- there's no other word- here, and especially since my Dad's not here for her to pick at . . . fuck. And double especially since, being the Mama's boy that I am, my Mom is the one person in this world I can't just tell to fuck off . . . she's killing me.

Add to that this whole mental breakdown thing she's done. She's always been a picky pain in the ass, but at least she had a bit of sense about her. Again, I don't want to repeat any conversations cos they're just sad, me trying for FIVE FUCKING MINUTES to just get a straight yes or no answer and her saying everything but, I started to say I feel like Superman the first time he went to Bizarro World, except at least the Bizarros are predictable, they answer everything completely opposite, not at 90, or 23, or 105 degree angles, and besides, I'm Batman, but again, it’s not just me, the people at the nursing home, after trying to talk to my mom and coming away as confused as she is, are like, "You're gonna take care of her AND him? More power to you, but no fucking way"- I agree, but at this point what the fuck can I do, I had no idea my Mom's brain was going to crash and burn like it has when I agreed to this.

When I first got here I thought part of the problem was that she was malnourished, cos she doesn't eat right, and that she slept half the day in bed, then sat in front of the TV dozing/watching her soap operas the other half (and guys, check 'em out, there are some HOT fucking bitches on some of those soap operas- my Mom watches the ones on ABC- I'm telling you, Lord, and I'm not using bitches in the rapper's sense as a substitute for the word "women", these women are all bitches- but damn, they're fucking hot) so, I made a practice of getting her up by no later than nine every morning- yeah, I know, me telling someone else to get up and out of bed, the irony is pretty thick, but I'm not laughing- putting a pot of that decaf drool she drinks instead of real coffee on, and fixing her a good, hot breakfast, just something simple, poached or scrambled eggs, and toast, or grits, but something hot and nutritious to put in her stomach.

All right ladies, one and two and one and ...I even started making her exercise, just some arm and leg stretches, which she resisted vigorously, but I wasn't having it, I felt like Jack La fucking Lanne, "Come on now, ladies, just a few more", but you know, something to get her fucking tired old blood moving, cos in the past few years she's just turned into this sedentary puffball mushroom like thing, got a big, ass shaped depression on the one end of the couch where she sits ALL the fucking time. I thought maybe a better diet, and exercise, and getting her ass out of the house daily to go see my Dad would maybe bring her around some, mentally.

Well, once again, another of my best laid plans went aglay. It's been two months and she's still as impaired as ever. However, I do think she's healthier, says she feels better physically, so it hasn't all been in vain (hey, if I'm getting my ass out of bed before noon, I'd better see something for it).

So . . . if it sounds like I'm whining, sorry, cos that's not my intention (and I hate a fucking whiner). I'm just so fucking sick of . . . my life for the past five years has been about nothing but going backward, just one continual litany of loss, my marriage, my kids, my house, my job (okay, so there's always a silver lining) now my parents, my independence . . . Christ's fucking sake, let me up, I've had enough.

But if crying and holding on
And flying on the ground is wrong
Then I'm sorry to let you down . . .

So, with all the stress and sheer craziness of living here again, I've decided to pursue better living through . . . abstinence? What the fuck is going on here? I haven't drunk a beer, or anything else, in the three weeks since everyone came out to help Bill move (I forgot to mention Doug bought all the men folk some crazy ass coconut rum cigars to smoke while we were at the Cold Spot, I can STILL taste the damn thing)-

(NOW THAT'S A CIGAR)

You better believe it. There was a note on my pillow the other morning, "Gone fishing. Call me when you need me. Your liver". I'm also all out of pills of all types, and I'm not planning on renewing any of my, ahem, prescriptions. What in the name of all that I believe in has happened to me? I don't really know. A lot of it has just been that I've been so mother fucking busy, either here, or down at Al's, I haven't had a night off to just sit and drink lately. I guess I could go ahead and get pounded even though I have other things I should be doing, God knows that's been my modus operandi for almost 35 years now, but I haven't, for whatever reason. Didn't feel right. And to be perfectly honest, with as unhappy as I've been lately, I don't really trust myself to get plowed under, I'm not sure what I might do. But if you ever see in the paper where I hit a bridge abutment doing 120 mph, it was no fucking accident. As opposed to hitting one at 60 mph, that WAS an accident. Fucking Hawkwind.

The Millenium Falcon.Also, and we'll talk about the DF more in depth later, but he's been working a lot ever since he signed that AWA deal, he's changing his look for the second time, from the Muay Thai oriental deal, to the combat pants and boots hardcore look, to more of an old school tights- yeah, I said tights, and it's funny, when I told Sarah about the new look she said, "Daddy, you're too big to wear tights" "You overheard your mother talking again, didn't you?" "Oh, yuck, I meant just your physique"- and singlet look. These are the full leg tights, black with DFZ in red down the leg, black singlet, black (legit) wrestling boots, the tights aren't in yet but they should be here before the first TV taping on the 26th-we'll be taping four, hour long shows, that's going to be a long ass day of wrestling- Brian and I were talking about the new look- which he suggested, by the way- he says, "You know who you're gonna look like, don't you?" I knew who I wanted to hear . . . "the Masked Superstar" he says. DUDE, absolutely, one of my all time fucking favorites.

So instead of drinking, when I get frustrated I've been coming down here and working out like crazy, it feels good- and here's another blast from the past for you nostalgiasts (not a real word, fuck it) from when I felt compelled to broadcast my weight every issue, it's at 219, and its a fucking hard 219. I really want to look good in my tights- hopefully I'll fit- on TV. The show's gonna run Saturdays at 11 am starting 12/3 and we're guaranteed 58 weeks, right now it's only gonna be on in the Beckley area- you guys lucky enough to be there, be sure to watch- but Brian's trying to get it in the Charleston/Huntington market, and we're all gonna get tapes of the shows, so we'll have to have a DFZ ON THE FUCKING TV party sometime in December.

Obviously, I've been edgy as fuck lately, and without my old friend substance abuse to help take the edge off- it only works for so long anyway, the same with working out, well, working out alone- what's Bill done to try and get (the edge) off? Well, since I no longer have Loretta- have I mentioned her yet this issue?- to say, "Jesus, I hate you when you're like this, get upstairs" and then tell the girls "Mommy and Daddy are going to take a nap"- they must've thought they had the laziest parents in the world, or else we were narcoleptics- and we'd go take a nap for a couple hours, and by God, that edge would be all gone. Loretta's as well, by the way.

No longer having that resource, I started calling Molly last weekend, to see if she'd be interested in some company this weekend. After 3-4 tries with no answer, thinking maybe she was just ducking my hard to get along with ass, I had Danny call her, he tried a few times, again with no answer. It doesn't say the number is out of service, just no one answers it. Shit, now I know what it must be like trying to call me.

So, I don't fucking know for sure, but it looks like Molly/Jynx may indeed turn out to be the stripper who got away. Doug and I were talking about her at the Cold Spot, he was like, "Dude, how could you fuck something like that up?" It was easy, big boy, all I had to do was be myself.

How do you get Bill to find ten pounds of fat attractive?
Put nipples on it.

What's the difference between Bill and a mutual fund?
Mutual funds mature.

Tina had to have surgery week before last, it was originally supposed to be a laproscopy for some endometriosis, but once he got in there he found all these polyps and cysts and other shit it makes me queasy to think about, he snipped some to biopsy, if they're all benign he'll go back in and burn 'em out, if not, I guess all her plumbing's coming out in the near future. Man, when it rains . . .

So in addition to all else I've been running around on her behalf as well, went to the drug store for her last week and got her a script for some Percocet, I saw her the next day and she was swearing off the things, wanted me to go to the store for her and get her some Motrin.

Tina: Those fucking Percocet make you hallucinate.
Bill: No shit they do. You ought to try taking four, with a bunch of beer.
T: No thanks. I want to wake up in the morning.
B: Well, see, that's where we differ. I don't.

And no, she didn't offer and I didn't ask, and the Percocet, as far as I know, are still on her night stand.

Tina's also been having some trouble with her ex-boyfriend, the feckless Vince, he just doesn't seem to understand when it's over, its over. I hate guys like that. He's been harassing Tina, at first fairly mild stuff, just calling and/or coming by when she's made it plain she doesn’t want anything more to do with him, but nothing threatening. He did get kind of ugly a while back one night at the Empty Glass when he came in drunk and found Tina with another guy, to where the guy invited Vince outside- where they went and TALKED some, and then Vince came back inside and continued to be a drunken pain in the ass to the point where Tina and this other guy left, so the whole point of asking him outside is lost on me.

It's gotten worse the past few weeks, Tina came home from work one night to find Vince passed out in her bed- damn, Vince, can you not see where that's a bit much?- and another time recently where he slashed his own fucking tires so he couldn't leave after she turned him away, that's getting a little creepy, but he was also drunk as shit, his normal state anymore, which is why they are no longer a couple.

Tina finally told him if he didn't leave her alone she was going to put me on his ass- I sure as fuck won't be asking him to step outside to talk- but I hope it doesn't come to that. I genuinely like Vince, and I can certainly sympathize with his current possession by demon alcohol. I also think he's the martyr type, and that a good ass kicking might actually do more to fuel his obsession than curb it. Still, dude, when a woman tells you to go, especially a Bitner woman, the best thing for you to do is GO. I feel like Brisco Darling on the subject of Ernest T. Bass, "We thought about killing him, sorta hated to go that far."

What else has Bill been up to?

I was supposed to see Doom last Sunday night but I got stood the fuck up, and no, I didn't go in and see it by myself, I think that's lame, in fact, being the wacko that I am, I now have a big ass grudge against the movie, and wouldn't go see the son of a bitch if you paid me fifty dollars.

I could be all pissy and say I missed a 304 show DFZ was booked on that night to go hang out in a theater lobby for half an hour, but in truth I'd have probably bailed on the show anyway, I'm not liking the promoter, he's pretty much a dirtball idiot, both slimy and stupid, I don’t need the extra aggravation. And from what I heard from some guys who worked the show, the crowd sucked, small and disinterested. They should've been hanging out in a theater lobby for half an hour.

I didn't get to see my little buddy Tanner The Flying Dutchman a while back when they came to pick up Aline, he had a soccer game or something that day, but he did write me a little note saying he hoped I got to come down and visit soon, how sweet. Denise and her husband Don came up, man, at 50, Denise is still one of the best looking women you will ever see in your entire life, my Mom remarked on it after they left, and I don't get it at all, cos Don is not a good looking guy in the slightest. He is, however, a hell of a nice guy, so fuck, maybe being a nice guy is how to get a good looking woman.

(IT'S STILL NOT WORTH IT)

Amen to that, brother.

And while I'm thinking about it, since it's FUCKING WITH ME RIGHT NOW, this piece of shit computer is not long for this world, swear to God. Joe, you gotta get out here quick and do something with this perverse bastard (the computer, not me), I can't afford to buy a new one right now. But when I can . . . I'm gonna stomp you into fucking pieces (the computer, not Joe). I'm gonna stomp your PIECES into pieces. Then I'm going to piss on you, then I'm going to call you bad names, and then I'm going to laugh ha, ha, ha, just like that. I mean it.

What's Bill been watching? Not a whole lot, been doing a lot more reading, which we'll get to later, I did watch Scarface a week or so ago with Al, I still think it's one of the funniest movies fucking EVER, there's no way it's meant to be taken seriously- with that accent, come on, Al Pacino is fucking hilarious, forget all that Godfather crap, this is the best shit he ever did in his life, and all those great lines, "I always tell the truth, even when I lie", "Everyone look at the bad man", and of course, the wonderful "Say hello to my little friend".

(I'M NOT LITTLE. AND I'M NOT YOUR FRIEND).

And I'm not talking to you.

I'm having second doubts about those creeps.It only gets better watching it with Al, who takes everything he sees on TV seriously, he gets all worked up over the Three Stooges, for God's sake, who we watch every morning I'm there (on Spike between 9 and 9:30, wait, never mind, you're probably working) before we meet Robbie for breakfast- "LOOK at those guys, they been beating on one another as long as I can remember. You reckon they don't like each other? DAMN, look at that mean one in the middle, he's gonna HURT that fella . . .", and as long as we've mentioned Robbie, he's still an idiot, at breakfast the other morning he ordered crepes, then remarked, "I'm having second doubts about those creeps." Me too, Robbie. Me too.

For some reason I've been doing my aerobic step hour between 5 and 6 pm recently, just how the schedule I call my life has worked out, and Food Network has a couple new, to me, anyway, shows in that slot, that I've been watching while I do that damnable step while twirling my hand weights like some dreadnaught majorette, the one at five I can't remember the name of- I'm not kidding, I've got Koogle for brains right now- it's okay (the show, not my condition, which sucks- but I'd still rather be me than YOU), notable only cos it's got these two male hosts who make no bones about being a couple- like you couldn't tell it, they're both queer as fruit bats, my, how we've progressed, to where a couple flamers can have their own cooking show. I'm down with it, more power to ya boys (and girl, ha).

Look at me, I'm Sara Lee ...After that comes on Something About Sara Lee, I can't remember the exact title, but Sara Lee has become my new Cooking Network fantasy girl, sorry, Rach (although I saw her new magazine in Kroger the other night while shopping for Al, "Every Day With Rachael Ray"- every day WHAT is what I want to know), Sara's tall and blond and slender, with some curves, looks like a soccer mom, I think she's pretty hot. What's the show about? I dunno, cooking or something, when I watch it I'm too busy fantasizing about folding Sara up in the back of her mommy van and bouncing that fucker's shocks right off- I meant the van's, but I'd happily bounce hers off as well. She also apparently likes to drink, since most of her shows she includes a drink recipe, that's always cool. She's married, since she talks about her husband every now and then. I haven't seen him yet, though I'm willing to bet he's ugly as fuck, but a real nice guy.

I realize I haven't mentioned my Dad yet this issue. So . .

I got your Sara Lee, right here ...We went to see my Dad a couple Saturdays ago- we go every day, it gets tiresome, in fact, a lot of times, REAL fucking tiresome, I'm not gonna lie, not just the drive, but also the place, there's a mind destroyed lady in there that lays in her bed and screams for help- she's safe in bed, whatever she's screaming about is going on inside her poor wrecked head- what seems like 24/7, I know it’s a rare occasion when we're there and she's not shrieking, no matter what time we stop by, I don't know what's going on in her tortured mind but I know it's not good, maybe one of you religious people can come up there with me sometime and take a good look at her, and then explain to me how much God loves her, and how her current torment is all part of some wonderful plan. Cos to me it just looks like she's in constant mental anguish, and it makes me want to throw up.

Also, it hurts me- it HURTS me- to see the fucking wreck my Dad's become.

Still, I put my fucking game face on and me and my Mom trek up to Meadowbrook every day, cos what else are we gonna do?

Anyway, a couple weeks ago they were having this Bazaar (Bizarre is more like it) selling craft items and baked goods and such to make money to buy a new van, they had this just GOD AWFUL country type band, The Humble Hearts- two acoustics, bass and drums and a piercing (and out of tune, and fuck, when I say something's out of tune) pedal steel- caterwauling away in the dining room, we went in there for a while, sweet Jesus- well, first off, when we get to the nursing home we can't find my Dad, now that he's feeling better (on occasion, he still has his bad days) he's Zippy the fucking chimp in a wheelchair, we finally found him way down at the end of the other hall.

Mom: Bit, you need to not go rolling all over this place like that. None of the aides knew where you were.
Dad (proudly): They can't keep up with me. Half the time they don't know where I'm at. Hell, half the time I don't know where I'm at.
Bill: I'd say most of the time.
Mom: Stop.
Dad: Shut up, smart ass.

I'm a road runner, baby ...I roll him down to the dining room, and I can honestly say I don’t believe the excruciating "Knock Three Times" has ever been performed so excruciatingly before, anyplace, any time, the singer, and I use the term most loosely, and only because I don't know the word for someone who makes sounds come out of their nose while standing in front of a microphone, in a fucking Death Match with the pedal steel for who can get farther off key-

Bill: Jesus Christ, haven't these poor people already suffered enough.
Mom: Stop. Those old ladies over there seem to be enjoying it, see how they're moving in their wheelchairs?
Bill: They're trying to get away.

The HH boys also tried their hand at comedy, some sub Buck and Roy humor between songs, I kept hoping they'd tell the one about Tarzan's marriage license, but no such luck.

Fortunately we got there near the end of the alleged "show", after which the "band" went around saying Hey to the residents, the "singer" stops by to greet my Dad-

Dad: Good thing you're humble.
HH Singer: Why's that
Dad: Cos you stink.

Ha. Out of the mouths of crazy old men.

Although I have to say, on one positive note, my Dad's swallowing has progressed to the point where he's off that pureed dog shit he's had to eat the past 3 months- he still can only eat a few bites before he gets exhausted, but at least it's real food- at one point I wandered off for a while cos I needed some air, when I came back my Dad was industriously masticating away, I asked him what he was eating, "HOT DOG!" he says, and if you could see the satisfaction beaming out of his crippled old face- fuck, I'm choking myself up here, big pussy. But it was a sweet moment.

The other side is he's lost an additional 10 pound since he's been at Meadowbrook- now down to 147 from a pre-stroke weight of 204- and he's going to take that feeding tube with him to the grave.

In more family news, Sarah continues to do well at school but seems to be getting increasingly home sick, so any of you who'd care to drop her an e-mail or real letter, I'd appreciate it, and I'm sure she would too. If you need her address, write me care of this station and I'll get it to you. As for the Rach monster, she'll be coming in next weekend, and I simply can't wait to see her. I've expounded on the subject in here before, but for all the shit that's been such an integral part of my life, I've been blessed with two of the best daughters any man could hope for. They are such sweet, sweet girls, and their Daddy loves them immensely.

So, what's Bill been reading?

Wahoo hammers a nail into Ric's conk, for security.I read a couple of wrestler autobiographies that I borrowed from Danny, Dusty Rhodes', which was quite a disappointment, dull and rambling and superficial, he's a hell of a lot more entertaining in person, and Ric Flair's, which is much better, those old school wrestlers remind me a lot of those old school country guys, hard partying hard asses, tons of great quotes in this one, I'll just include one here, well two, first by the tough as hell, and much missed Wahoo McDaniel, when his gig blade accidentally came out of his wrist tape and ripped through Flair's eyelid, who then, reasonably enough to me, complained to Mr. McDaniel, who told him- "Quit yer whining, I've had more stitches in my foreskin than you've had in your whole fucking body". Well, how you gonna argue with that?

And one by Ric Flair himself, "I've never hammered a nail in my life. And I don't want to." By God, sir, I like your attitude.

And one story, how they were driving back from somewhere and Flair, who was in the back with Terry Funk, kept sneaking and pouring Everclear into Funk's beer- Terry Funk on grain alcohol, who the fuck thought THAT was a good idea?- and a pickled Funk sets Greg Valentine's- who happened to be driving at the time- hair on fire with a cigarette lighter, and when they stop to put out Valentine's head, Funk takes off all of his clothes and starts directing traffic wearing nothing but his cowboy boots and his NWA championship belt. Now that’s class.

Alright, let's keep it movin' ...Also read The Devil's Teeth, by this woman who went out and joined the great white shark research team on the Farallon Islands about 40 miles off San Francisco, the waters there are just thick with great whites in the fall, when they come in and tear up on the seals living on the islands, pretty interesting, but she does that, oh they're so beautiful shit, man, FUCK that, how beautiful would they look to you while ripping your ass, or better yet, the ass of someone you loved, to fucking shreds? You gonna preach that back to nature shit to me then? Instead of going out there and kissing their fishy asses, they need to be shooting them in the head with explosive tipped harpoons, by God that's a job I'd sign up for in a heartbeat, kill every motherfucking one of them is what I say, and I don’t CARE about your ecology, you stupid tree hugging dumbfuck

I also finished all the ordered books that I mentioned in the last- or maybe the one before that- issue, plus the two most recent Nevada Barr mysteries, a couple Marvel "graphic novels", they kinda got up my nose cos they were this new Ultimates shit where they recreate their old line heroes yet fucking AGAIN, but I did like that Captain America was a real hard ass in this, wanted to kill the Green Goblin, absolutely, in the real world that's exactly what you'd do to these murderous fucks, or I would, anyway, I'm telling you, if I really were Batman I'd have killed that fucking Joker on SIGHT, sorry about your subscription, kids.

Running a quick check in my head- no smart remarks- I've read better than two dozen books since last issue- hey, you combine insomnia with abstinence and a boy's got lots of time to improve himself through lit' rature- I don’t want to run down them all, but I do want to give a nod to these old, hard boiled mystery paperbacks I found down stairs here during my cleaning, The Dead Darling by Jonathan Craig, from 1955, great shit, he capitalizes Lesbians, like it's some kind of title, and writes such great period dialog as "I give him a bust in the mouth he ain't never gonna forget" and, "He gave him two, blam, blam, in 'a gut, and then one more, blam, in the conk for security". Jesus, they just don’t write 'em like that anymore.

One last literary mention, The Body Lovers a Mike Hammer by Mickey Spillane, I'm not much of a Spillane fan (although Kiss Me Deadly is a great movie) this one notable mostly for how it ends so fucking abruptly, Mick was probably in his den typing away-

Mrs. Mick: Mickey? Honey, supper's ready. I made a meat loaf.
Mick: Okay, dear, just let me finish this book. "And then the whole house blew up. The End". Meat loaf, huh? Oh boy.

I met The Angry Filmmaker a couple weeks ago, he's this filmmaking friend of Danny's, does documentaries as well as features, he's worked with Jim Jarmusch and some other semi big names in the independent field, and he's got this great scam going where he tours the country and rips on the film industry, and then shows his films, and gets paid relatively big bucks to do so. Danny got him booked at State sometime since the last newsletter, that's as precise as Mr. Koogle Brain can be right now, Kelly, or Mr. Angry, as I like to call him, stuck around for few days, he and I hung out some and hit it off- hey, I can get along with anyone as long as they're not a bright, beautiful woman I want to spend the rest of my life with-

(OR A SHIT HOT STRIPPER).

I got your shit-hot, right here.-whatever, anyway, he came to training while he was in and I showed him a few moves, he filmed it all for the documentary he's making of his road trip, so I should be in it, I signed a release and he gave me some money, who's scamming who, big guy, I've gotten so much money lately for shit I'd do for free it should be against the law. He also wants me to come out to Portland (OR) in the spring to be in his next feature, again, we'll have to see where my Dad is at at that time

"I can't make 'em believe wrestling's for real. But I can sure as hell make 'em believe I'm for real." Johnny Valentine

Okay, time for DFZ corner, and then we're out. First off, a big RIP to Reggie "Crusher" Lisowski, a real man's man wrestler from the old days, when wrestlers were built like beer kegs, with a bleached blond wig on top, and were damn proud of it.

And in the how's it feel to be a cultural icon department- you don't know? Well, I fucking do, a bunch of local ne'er do wells have written a song about the mighty Death Falcon, entitled, appropriately enough, Death Falcon Zero Is Here For Your Women-

Sir Prince Paul Lucas Diablo the Black Bearded Samurai Ninja of Darkness Skullcrusher Keisling(NO SHIT)

- I haven't heard it since this shitbag computer won't play it, but Joe can include it on the site, so you can hear it. I'm sure it fucking rocks.

In the DF injury report, my head still hurts, I don't know if it's brain damage or just my life. I'm still working that AWA APEX program with the massive Mr. Black, fuck, he popped me square in the eye two weeks ago- my fault, he called a head shot, I was still prying myself up off the mat and stood up right into it- my left eye was swollen shut for most of a week, it's still all purple and yellow, but at least now I can see out of it. And in the giving as good as you get department, Black has this NO PAIN NO GAIN tattoo circling his hairy navel, he was getting dressed last show and Brian looked at him and cracked up, pointed it out to all of us, Black had this black and blue size 11 boot print going right through the middle of his tattoo, from a particularly vigorous DF boot to the gut.

We're fucking killing each other, for real- no animosity, in fact, according to Black- Phil to his friends- we're becoming big buddies, he introduced me to his wife after last show, and she told me later "He NEVER does that"- and it's going over, the crowds are eating it up alive, they can see that we're really beating the fuck out of one another, Brian, in his closing speech to all the workers before he handed out our paychecks was saying Tuesday, "I've had all kinds of fans come up to me lately and say, 'I know most wrestling's not real. But yours is'. And 90% of the reason is because of those two motherfuckers right there" and he pointed to me and Back. It's nice to be appreciated.

However, there's still Mr. Boyd. After his so thoroughly blowing the match three weeks ago, he took a self imposed week off, he was back for the match last Tuesday. Brian's trying to bring him along, but I'm convinced at this point that Danny is just one of those guys with no affinity at all for wrestling. Some folks got it, some don't, and it's not about physicality, or mentality, or anything like that. Much as he loves it, he just has no fucking feel for the business whatsoever, like a guy who loves and listens to music all his life, but can’t play a fucking decent lick no matter how much you try to teach him, cos he has no ear for it.

The set up this show is Black once again hits me with his (oh fuck) spine buster, Breeze- our new cohort- comes in to stop the pin, Black goes for him- he's had enough of this interference shit- DFZ hops up and clips Black's leg from behind, he goes down and we all three put a beat down on him, then Breeze and DFZ pull a groggy Black up to his knees and Danny slaps him twice, then chair shots him twice, cos as Brian says, in the crowd's mind, once is for show, but if you do it twice, it's real.

I'm a little concerned about Danny being in charge of the chair shots- "How can he fuck up a chair shot?" I'm repeatedly asked, oh, I don't know . . I tell Danny several times, "Remember, overhead, like chopping wood, not sideways, like swinging a bat", "I got it, I got it . . . "

Black and I have another good, stiff match, although it's hard to do a lot with a guy that outweighs me by 180 pounds-as a heel, as a face I could actually wrestle him- other than punch and kick him, although he and I've talked, before our run is over I'm gonna give him an exploder suplex, he's game, I just need to remember to wear my truss- we get to the chair shot part, I'm getting pretty pissed cos Danny is spending WAY too much time mugging for the crowd, "HIT him, already!" I holler, he winds up- and here it comes, sideways, just like everyone told him not to do . . . and he's swinging for the fucking fences.

The chair clips my hand where I've got Black armbarred, that hurts, then hits Black in the side of the head, right on the ear, oh, I know THAT hurts, then glances off Black's skull and hits Breeze in the fucking shoulder. Jesus. Breeze drops Black's arm and grabs his own shoulder and starts hollering, "Ow, shit, what's up with THAT?" Black and I, being professionals, hold our positions, but Black rolls a weary eye at me and in a voice tight mixed with disgust and incredulity whispers "Where the fuck did you GET this guy?"

Yeah, well fuck me, I just break up, I can't help it, I'm holding a straight face for the crowd- thank God I wear a mask- but I'm also laughing so hard I can't see for the fucking tears rolling out of my eyes. Black has commented previously on how much I laugh while I'm working, I don't know, I just find the whole pro wrestling thing amusing as hell, I mean it's ridiculous what we're out there doing, and that people are paying good money to watch, I don't mean that in any condescending way at all, I mean that in a life's a funny, funny thing kind of way, it's all just a lark, you know? I love it, spine busters and eye pops and all. I LOVE it.

Danny's back crowd baiting again, his greatest skill by far, I holler, "Come on, give him one more, blam, in the conk for security!" and am pretty much convulsed with laughter at my own wit, Black mutters, "You're as messed up as he is", Danny delivers another chair shot that once again gets a piece of all three of us, Breeze and I toss the now taken down a few pegs Mr. Black flat on his face, and exit stage left.

And that's where we'll leave it till next issue, this one has gotten well long and out of hand. Sort of like yours truly.

Later

Bill

Good thing you're humble.